Uncorked
by Lala Kate
Summary: A first Christmas. An unexpected gift.


_This Christmas offering is an AU based on S4. If you have not watched the fourth season of Downton Abbey, this drabble will be tremendously confusing, I'm afraid. :) I recommend returning to this after you have at least watched through Episode 7. And Merry Christmas, everyone. :) God's blessings upon all of you and your families._

_Own nothing. But adore it all!_

* * *

_**Uncorked: **_**A Christmas Tale**

"Alone at last."

She smiled at his unexpected approach, leaning into the warmth pressed against her back as his breath shamelessly teased her shoulder.

"Surely the Christmas festivities with my family weren't that dreadful?" she mused, closing her eyes as his lips feathered across her temple.

"Not at all," he replied, soaking in this moment, this first Christmas with a woman far beyond what he deserved. "Happy Christmas, Mary."

"Happy Christmas, Charles," she returned, breathing through the slight squeeze in her chest as scenes from holidays past flooded her mind.

He held her with a quiet insistence, saying nothing until he sensed the gradual relaxation of muscle and bone into his keeping.

"Forgive me," she whispered, the raspy edge of her tone pressing his heart.

"No apologies for remembering past lives," he breathed, cherishing the feel of her against him, cradling the trust she offered close. "We've discussed that already. Remember?"

"Yes, I remember," she conceded, resting her hands on his. She then felt one arm desert her, wondering where it had strayed until his voice caressed her ear.

"This is for you."

"That's funny," she quipped, turning her head slightly in his direction. "I thought we had already exchanged gifts downstairs with the others.""

His low chuckle resounded inside her rib cage, instigating a slight tremor in her knees.

"Yes. But this one is for your eyes only," he murmured as warm arms crept back around her waist, bearing a festively wrapped box he deftly pressed into her hands.

"Hmmm," she mused, toying with the ribbon. "For my eyes only. Should I be alarmed?"

"Don't be frightened," he teased, drawing a path down her neck with the pad of his finger. "After all, I couldn't squeeze anything too terrifying in a box that small, now could I?"

"Oh, I don't know," she grinned, turning just enough so she could see his expression. "You can be quite the trickster when you put your mind to it."

A stray strand of hair beckoned him, and he twirled it around his finger, staring into her in a manner that still took her by surprise.

"Believe me, Mary, tricking you is the furthest thing from my mind," he breathed, his lips skimming her ear. His mouth then grazed her neck, prickling dots of anticipation down her spine as her skin began to hum. "On second thought, perhaps you should be alarmed."

"Trying to be witty again, are we?" she managed, smiling as his grin spread across her clavicle.

"I gave up that course of action months ago," he returned, planting a soft kiss on her shoulder before drawing back to look at her fully. "I know when I've been bested."

"Quitter," she quipped, tossing him an arched brow.

"I prefer to think of it as stepping back to reassess one's strategy," he returned, raising his brows in retaliation. "After all, when dealing with an opponent of such skill and talent, it can be prudent to plot an unexpected course of action."

"I didn't realize you still thought of me as an opponent," she teased, noting the flash in his eyes at her comment.

"A very friendly opponent," he explained, languidly stroking her bare arm. "Now will you open your gift?"

"I thought you'd never ask," she smirked, releasing the silver ribbon from its confines before sliding a fingernail under the paper seam. She made quick work of the unwrapping process, watching him from under hooded lids as the box top was slowly cast aside.

"What's this?" she questioned, drawing out a bottle in surprise. "Quinta do Conego..a Portuguese red wine from 1918." She turned her gaze directly towards him, blatant inquiry visible in her eyes. "Are we toasting something?"

"Do you recognize it?" he asked, steering her carefully. "This precise wine, I mean."

Her eyes narrowed slightly in concentration.

"Obviously, I'm supposed to," she answered, stroking the bottle's neck as she continued to study the label. "But I'm afraid I don't always pay attention to the wine that is served at our table."

"And what of the wine served downstairs?" he baited, seeing a flicker of recognition in her eyes. "Have you ever paid attention to those labels?"

"Not so much to the labels as much as to the taste," she replied, eyeing him with interest. "There was one particular bottle I seem to remember finding particularly warming and robust."

"I see," he mused, leaning in closer. "What else do you remember about this variety of you are describing?"

"That it pairs nicely with scrambled eggs," she answered, rewarded with a look of appreciation mixed with mischief. "How am I doing?"

"Egg-straordinarily well," he quipped, receiving a rather marked look in return. He then inhaled audibly, staring at her in earnest as he cleared his throat. "Much to my surprise, I have found that particular wine has become a personal favorite of mine."

"And how long have you fancied this variety?" she inquired softly, toying with an unruly lock of his own, enjoying the course texture between her fingers.

"Since experiencing the dirtiest night of my life," he grinned, enjoying the faint blush that crept stealthily across her cheeks. "I was amazed at just how quickly it got under my skin and became something I couldn't live without."

"Was it difficult to come by?" she questioned, the deepening of his gaze speeding warmth through veins already heightened.

"I had to put forth some decided effort," he admitted, taking her free hand within his own. "But the result was most decidedly worth the price."

"It would seem your persistence paid off, then," she breathed, feeling her insides flutter as he leaned in closer.

"And I'm so glad it did," he confessed, the utter sincerity in his expression strumming cords tuned with precision by his hands.

"So am I."

His breath then tickled her lips, drawing them closer as his descended with care. They rubbed and teased, nibbled and tasted, gently coaxing and appreciating as her mouth opened to him. She drank him in, savoring the scent that was distinctly his own, immersing herself in a happiness unearthed under the oddest of circumstances.

"I take it you approve?" he murmured, drawing back just far enough to speak.

"Very much," she confirmed, her milky expression drugging his senses. "But I do have one condition for uncorking it."

"Making demands already?" he quipped, grinning at the slight spark in her expression. "Alright, my lady. I'm all ears."

She smiled coyly in his direction.

"The night this bottle is opened, we must partake of it in the kitchen after everyone else has gone to bed," she insisted, watching his head nod in agreement.

"I can assure you that that has been a part of the plan all along," he stated readily. "Do you have any other terms with which I need to be familiar?"

"Only one," she replied, pressing in close.

"And what is that?" he managed, the confines of his suit suddenly too hot for his own comfort.

"This time, you must cook for me," she explained, tracing his lips with an elegant finger, giggling when he nipped it lightly with his teeth.

"It would seem as though I have leapt from the frying pan into the fire," he mused, a need he recognized well making demands becoming difficult to put aside.

"I thought you did that when you married me," she spoke into his lips, the vibration of his chuckle making her want more.

"It's a good thing I'm not afraid of playing with matches," he returned, silenced by a kiss that could be held off no longer.

"Yes," she agreed into his mouth, the wine bottle placed gently upon the nightstand. "A very good thing, indeed."


End file.
